


Tonio

by TamiTipher



Series: Hawkeye Café [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-14 16:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13011306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TamiTipher/pseuds/TamiTipher
Summary: The only reason Tony had bothered to go to the café a second time — or a third — was because the coffee really was that good. Sure as hell better than the office coffee. By the fourth time he went more out of genuine curiosity as to whether the barista really was that dense or just pulling his leg.





	Tonio

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this tumblr post](https://meolchina.tumblr.com/post/168510094574) that immediately made me go "that's... so Bruce and Tony..." And the barista one was my favourite. Evidently.
> 
> Many thanks as usual to my beta [peggymarsh](https://peggymarsh.tumblr.com/) for being wonderful and also enabling me with many ideas.

It was a nightmare.

And no, Tony was _not_ overreacting. It _was_ a goddamn nightmare.

He’d spent the past twenty minutes on the phone with Simon Utrecht, and twenty more minutes in a joined call with Pepper, because that man just could not understand basic mathematics; on top of that, he hadn’t slept in over thirty hours, his hair was greasy and his goatee was untrimmed, and all he wanted was some nice sweet caffeinated nectar to kickstart his engines back so he could survive the next twelve hours of iminent stress before he could go home and finish his personal projects.

And he still had to deal with _this._

Tony stared at the coffee cup in his hand as he settled into his car. Maybe if he stared at it for long enough, it would catch on fire.

The messy handwriting on the side of the cup read _Tania._

This one wasn’t even close. Really, bordered on disappointing.

He’d been going to this specific café for about a month now, and every single day his cup came back with a ridiculous version of his name. The constant misspellings had been amusing at first, but after a week or two, principally on days he had to stick around and wait a couple minutes, it became one more unnecessary annoyance on his already lengthy list of annoyances.

Tony seethed. This was the best café in the vicinity of his workplace, and missing his daily morning dosage of caffeine was not an option. He had considered asking Pepper to start buying the coffee for him, but she would just tell him to drink from the office’s coffee machine, completely ignoring his point that it was horrible coffee.

That was a note for later: buy a new coffee machine.

Or, buy the café and fire the barista. Tony had even already identified the one responsible. He was a scrawny guy with ridiculous round glasses who looked like an out of place nerd. Perhaps if he had been a few years younger he could’ve passed as a grad student trying to make a few dollars on the side. Instead, he looked rather like he’d been yanked out of a lawyer’s office, or a doctor’s consulting room, and tucked into clothes someone had considered traditional hipster coffee garb, a scarf included; and mind you, it was summer.

The worst part? Even with the prehistoric looking glasses, he was kinda cute. Like, on the ridiculous side of the scale.

It only annoyed Tony more.

*

“Pepper, he did it again,” Tony announced, throwing the office door open with a kick as his hands were occupied with holding two cups of coffee.

“Here we go...” Pepper sagged deeper on her chair.

“This fucking barista keeps misspelling my name! Honestly, who does he think he is?” Tony waved his cup. “I thought he was just slow at first, so I tried saying Anthony, and you know what I got, Pepper? _Do you know?”_

“Actually, you’ve already…”

 _“Antônio!”_ Tony said with a dramatic accent, and threw the cup holder at the nearest bin. It bounced off the edge. Miserable. Just like him. “That’s not even English!” Pepper snorted. “It’s not funny, Pep!”

“It’s kinda funny,” Rhodey pitched in from the back.

“I’m going to sue them. Pepper, can I sue them?”

“No, Tony, you can’t. Even if you could, I’d still say you can’t.”

“And here I was, thinking I could trust you.”

“You could always stop going there.”

“And miss out on that macchiato? No way. Their customer service might be crap, but, god, if that’s not the best café of this entire goddamn block.”

Pepper shook her head and looked back at the files, which meant Tony was officially in the ignore list for the rest of the day.

*

The first time Tony had gone to the café it was out of necessity more than anything. He’d started working on a new project and kinda ended up forgetting to sleep. It happens. And since Tony _knew_ the office coffee was piss poor, he might as well stop by this place on the way.

“One macchiato—No, I don't wanna hear from that son of a bitch ever again, he can't even basic math.” The phone had been vibrating for a solid minute now and Tony groaned. “Give me a sec.” There were at least five people who'd messaged him in the last minute. One of them was Howard Stark, or, most likely, the secretary hired to send his private messages. Tony didn’t much care to check. “Why is everyone trying to drive me crazy today?” he grumbled, forgetting Pepper was still on the other side of the line.

 _“I think you already got there on your own,”_ Pepper said, dryly.

“I love how much credit you give me, Pep.”

_“Glad to be of service. Try not to be late again.”_

“I'm waiting for my macchiato, it’s not my fault!”

_“If you slept more than three hours a night…”_

“What? Sorry, Pep, getting bad signal, did you say something?”

 _“Get your ass to work, Tony.”_ And she hang up.

Checking his father’s message, Tony’s suspicions were confirmed. It’d been some time since Howard had bothered to send him any actual messages, and the dry and impersonal tone used was an instant tell. Not that his father’s messages _weren’t_ dry as fuck, but they’d usually carry a reprehensive undertone instead of reading like a doctor’s prescription.

So, naturally, Tony started typing a very polite _fuck off_ reply.

“Card or…” the cashier broke through Tony’s intricate line of thought. Tony grit his teeth, still viciously typing.

“Cash, yes, here. Keep the change. Thanks,” Tony said, and bolted away as quickly as possible.

That day the name on the cup had been _Tone._ He hadn’t cared much for it at the time.

*

_Teeny Stork._

This was the last straw. So bad it was almost adorable.

"You used to be better at this," was Tony’s first words to the conspirator. He leaned over the counter, tapping the rim of the cup. "Also, I never gave my last name, now I know that you _care."_

The man — Bruce, according to the nameplate pinned to his uniform — glanced at him.

“You pay with a credit card everyday, and you sign the pad with the world's largest handwriting. Didn’t require much much effort on my end.” He sounded so tired, it was a little bit disheartening. “And no, you may not speak to the manager.”

“Okay, first off, that doesn’t refute what I said at all, in fact, only proves my point,” Tony said, finger up. “And second, I was _not_ going to ask that.”

“Good, because I’m the manager, and I don’t want to speak to you.”

“You’re the barista, the cashier _and_ the manager?”

“You’d have noticed that if you didn’t have your eyes glued to the phone all the time, but hey, you do you,” Bruce said with a shrug.

_Oh._

A double check confirmed there wasn’t anyone else behind the counter wearing the ridiculous brand of uniform, and, God, how had Tony missed that? The only other person who looked the part was a blond guy perched on a table, clearly not doing any work, watching the argument with disinterest while scratching his ear with an arrow. At some other point in his life, Tony would have questioned that, but at this stage there were few things that could faze him.

“What about him?” Tony gestured vaguely to the man in question.

“I just stand around and scrub the floor sometimes," the man said with a shrug. “Also, I’m the owner, and before you ask, I don’t want to speak to you either.”

Tony turned back to Bruce, who continued to look exponentially less happy with his existence.

“Do you actually want anything? You’re clogging the line,” Bruce said, after they’d stared at each other for long enough for two more customers to arrive. Tony looked down at the steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

“I… no, I don’t need anything.”

Bruce’s lips curled into a small smile, before he turned back to his obnoxiously shiny espresso machine. “Good. Have a nice day, Teeny.”

Tony turned without another word and headed for the door.

That went well.

The moment he got to the car, his phone rang. Right. He was now late thanks to that little conundrum.

“Teeny Stork…” Tony muttered, and took a sip of the coffee before answering.

*

“Tony, honestly, why aren't you just going to another shop?”

“Because.”

“I'm going to ask a new question. Is the asshole barista, by any chance, very attractive?”

“Only kind of. The dumb glasses ruin it. Too nerdy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That's not why I'm going back.”

“Yesterday their dog tripped you and you spilled your coffee on a new white shirt and the owner laughed at you and the barista gave you a new cup with the same misspelling. And you're still planning on going back tomorrow.”

“So?”

“You used to have dignity.”

“Only barely.”

Pepper’s glare could’ve killed someone.

*

The only reason he had bothered to go to the café a second time — or a third — was because the coffee really was that good. Sure as hell better than the office coffee. By the fourth time he went more out of genuine curiosity as to whether the barista really was that dense or just pulling his leg.

Sometime in the first week of frequenting the café, Bruce called his name, and it had sounded right. Tony thought it was over. A bit relieving, a bit disappointing.

He’d burst out laughing as soon as he turned the cup, and promptly took a snapchat with a hand on his forehead in a dramatic flair, cup raised, and sent it to Pepper and Rhodey.

_Toeknee._

Given the knowing look they’d exchanged as Bruce handed him cup, the answer to his question was pretty clear. Also, Tony did not fail to notice the man in line before him had given the name “Jerzy Bondov” and Bruce had said it in a perfect accent.

*

Tony felt like shit. Pepper would say it was his own fault, but it's not his fault the computer kept insisting his calculations were wrong. Okay, it was kinda his fault. Still. The new simulation was running so well it could make a grown man cry — Reed, specifically.

Unfortunately for Tony, he hadn’t plugged his brain into a cyborg AI yet, so his stupid human body would keep asking for things such as _sleep_ and _food._ Silly human body.

Bottom line: Tony looked like an ugly turd, and he was very much aware of it.

The phone vibrated in his pocket. Right. Today, Tony Stark was a man with a mission. Mission Atonement, according to Rhodey. Because Tony could admit to faults, and he’d really been a huge dick regarding certain baristas slash cashiers slash menagers.

With a last look at the obnoxiously large number of unread messages — eighty-fucking-three —, Tony locked his phone and shoved it into his jacket before walking in. Bruce greeted him with a sour ‘good morning’, and Tony smiled, or attempted to, given how tired he was, he wasn’t sure his brain was sending the correct synapses to most of his body.

The phone vibrated. Bruce glanced at it.

No words were exchanged.

*

The cup came with _Tony._ It made him feel a little better.

*

For the first time in two months, Tony had managed to sleep a total of six hours. He was way more proud of it than any of his colleagues. Still, he made his way to his _favorite_ café, phone turned off and all, game face in place.

Bruce looked about as cheery as Tony had expected when he walked up to the counter.

“Let me guess, a macchiato?”

“Yes, but also, a word," Tony paused. There was no response, so he continued. “Okay. In hindsight, I may have been kind of a dick. That’s a thing I do, nothing personal," Tony said. In his mind, a tiny version of Pepper nodded her head enthusiastically. He ignored her, and flashed his shiniest smile. Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Maybe, I could make it up to you with a drink? Or dinner. No need to be serious. We can just be two assholes, eating a meal together.”

Bruce blinked, mask finally breaking, and opened his mouth for a moment before shutting it. Tony’s smile widened.

"Y'know, you don't need to tell me now. I can be patient, believe it or not." Tony winked, dislodging himself from the counter. He did his best to stay cool and casual as he headed towards the door. "See you, Bruce."

Midway through his commute, Tony realised he’d forgotten to buy a coffee.

*

The next day his name was _“Tonto,”_ followed by a phone number in surprisingly tidy print.

“Looking happy there for once, Tonio," Rhodey said when Tony got to the office, smiling at the new contact name on his phone.

_Bryce._

**Author's Note:**

> Person in front of Tony in line: my name is asdfghjkl poiuytrewq  
> Bruce: asdfghjkl poiuytrewq? Got it.  
> Tony: my name is Tony  
> Bruce: whom
> 
> ([tumblr](https://meolchina.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/TimmerTams))


End file.
